Christmas: The End and the Beginning

When I began this Christmas series, I figured it would be good discipline for me. Although I love to write in Got My Reservations, I’m not a faithful daily blogger.

Writing the series has turned out to be an allegory for my life.

Sometimes I just blow it off. I didn’t write every day, which is similar to what I do in other areas of my life. Most of the time I trudge along responsibly, doing what I’m supposed to do and following the rules. Occasionally, however, I have a breakout moment where I just say “forget it” and sit down in my Lazy-Boy and watch hours of mindless television. Should I beat myself up about that? I don’t think so.

I look at the world with a writer’s eye. I was constantly thinking about the blog’s contents and possible subjects about which to write. Everywhere I went, I looked at scenes and people through a critical lens, wondering if I should snap a photo to document the story. I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking of a turn of phrase or a germ of an idea and rush to the computer to get it down “on paper.” I suppose that’s the curse of the writer; but most of the time I found that oiling my squeaky creativity wheel was good for my soul.

I’m still struggling to find my voice. I found a lot of other interesting blogs while I was researching my own posts. There are so many niche blogs out there, but many of them don’t seem to have much of a following. I’m looking for my own audience but I don’t seem to fall into any regular models. Writing this series made me think about why I write and for whom. For the twenty or so of you who regularly tuned in for 25 Days of Christmas, thank you. I hope it was worth it.

I love Christmas, with all of its philosophical and historical warts. I struggled with the lack of Christmas decorations in my own house — this coming from a person who has a significant amount of her basement crawl space dedicated to boxes filled with Christmas items. Writing about my remodeling process helped me to cope with my own discomfort about the shape my house was in. Writing about the other elements of my life — music, teaching, friends and family — made me see that one’s house is only one part of the Christmas picture. My darling husband is probably cheering right now and hoping that I’ll be prompted to sell some of the stuff currently living under the house. Maybe, honey. I’ll think about it.

So, today becomes the end of this particular series of posts, and the beginning of another chapter in my life. Thank goodness I’m celebrating Christmas where there are Christmas decorations. My life may be complete.